Heart is at Home
by Notaslongasthat
Summary: I can never come up with creative plots but I love to fill in 'missing scenes.' Kicks off at the end of 5x01.


Lucien stirred in and out of a dream and woke with his fiancée at the forefront of his mind. Fiancée. The word still felt foreign yet it was strange that she didn't share his bed. He should have been able to roll over and pull her to him and drift back to sleep. He was so comfortable and warm in his blankets; the only thing keeping him from staying there was his dislike of her absence.

"Jean…" he yearned devoutly to his room. He shifted out of bed and slipped on his robe, determined to see her.

The night before, Matthew took them to the club for drinks to celebrate the wonderful, albeit unsurprising, news of their engagement. As the evening progressed, Matthew maintained he knew their marriage was inevitable . He insisted it was about time even though the progression of their relationship was not slow. They met in 1959 and would be married when his divorce settled in 1961. Despite that, it was confounding to many that they weren't already married. It was just clear how they belonged together. Matthew didn't hesitate to share his memories as proof of how obvious it was.

* * *

"When he began making an effort to go home for dinner on a regular basis. That's when I knew. Before then, if he was focused on a case, meals were never priority. We had to remind him to eat!" Matthew reminisced.

"And, you know, I didn't notice he had teeth until every time he grinned 'Mrs. Beazley' so widely …"Cec quipped when he brought over their drinks. Jean's cheeks burned but she sat up proudly, sipping her drink to conceal her blush. She felt Lucien pat her knee.

"Even as boys, in school, I never saw him so.. so -" Matthew searched.

"Happy," Lucien finished easily for him. "Yes. I am. I won't deny it was difficult adjusting to the idea of being back in Ballarat."

"So, what was your secret to managing the then-surly doctor, Jean?" Cec half-joked.

She chuckled. "Well, Lucien was - is - anything but 'by-the-book' unlike how his father had been but I learned how to help him. I admired his care for patients and his passion for solving a case. Eventually I got used to his unscheduled routine and fit mine around it. It seemed to work for us."

Indeed, they thrived off one another. His eccentricities revitalized and kept her guessing as she restored his faith in Ballarat. It had been years since her smile was constantly at her surface, genuine and easy. She lightened his cynicism effortlessly, helping him see good in others just by the virtue of her character. His outlook transformed as he admired her integrity each passing day. His change was apparent in the way he spoke to people; a dramatic shift as he fell more in love with her. It was undeniable that she was the reason. She kept him on his toes and helped him regain a spring in his step. It shook her how intensely she began to care for him, finding herself doing things outside the typical role of housekeeper just to see him smile. She loved watching the wheels in his head spin as he shared his ranting theories with her. The nights he turned to whiskey for consolation occurred less and less; instead he went to her. He was her consolation every bit as much as she was his.

"I overlooked all you did. I didn't know what I needed. Hell, I didn't think I was going to stick around Ballarat and I certainly wasn't warm to the idea of someone managing my life and telling me what to do."

"I remember. I almost took that job at the Royal Cross…"

"You would have been a miserable wreck without her," Matthew interjected bluntly.

Lucien raised his eyebrows as he swallowed his drink, nodding as he set the empty glass down. Jean squeezed his wrist in modest recognition of her influence. He felt the request there in her touch too. She wanted to go home.

"It's been an inspiring progression to watch unfold, really. "And not just in you, sir. Jean - congratulations."

"Thank you, Cec." Jean stroked her thumb softly over Lucien's knuckles; her affection discernible to everyone in the barroom. He ached to be alone with her then; to cherish and hold her dear.

"It really is about time. You deserve it," Lucien faintly heard Matthew tell them as he stared at Jean's hand easing over his. He focused at her missing engagement ring; a reminder of their secret to be shared a little while longer.

"If I make her anywhere near as happy as I am…" Lucien's voice fell flat. He warmed her hand under his in an unspoken promise. His quiet insecurity made her uneasy and when she met his solemn eyes, reassurance poured out from her.

"Oh, Lucien!" she whispered. "Of course you do,' she cleared her throat, embarrassed at the her display of emotion. "Cec, we are not announcing it to the town yet so please keep the news to yourself," she requested as she composed herself. Tracing a line where her ring would soon be, Lucien nodded.

No one in the town would be shocked, Cec thought, but still he humored them. "Of course."

* * *

When they arrived home, Jean felt giddy. It was somewhat from drink but had more to do with the good spirit of the evening. She felt his touch at the small of her back leading her inside.

"I want you to know that what Matthew said is true about me too," she said soberly, turning to him as he closed the front door behind them. He tucked a loose hair away from her eyes and sculpted his palms to her jawline, cupping her face.

"What's that?"

"I would be miserable without you."

"Well, luckily, then," she watched his eyes sweep across her lips, "you are with me."

His lips landed on hers, sucking the sensitive underside of her upper lip. His beard tickled her and she giggled softly until Lucien pulled her into a tight hug. His hold on her was restless at the base of her spine.

"I am very lucky," she stated firmly at his shoulder. She smoothed her lips across his cheek, trailing love nips through wiry bristles. His hands twitched precariously at the rise of her bum, unsettling both of them as he provoked her keen nerve endings. Wanting more, she pressed at his chest and pushed him against the door. She scratched his beard and continued soft kiss after soft kiss, smooth, warm and enticing.

"And Matthew said I'd be miserable without you..." he growled.

"It's sweet misery now," she pined and kissed him harder.

"Jean," he pleaded as she tasted the skin at his Adam's apple. He felt dizzy; having her so close; engulfed by the scent of her hair. He straightened his frame at the door, very aware of his growing desire, concerned he would make her uncomfortable. She did notice, of course, along with the anguish on his handsome features.

Before she let herself get carried away, she stood on her tiptoes and pierced his eyes with her darkened green ones. Heavy with lust, she cast them down; sweeping over his body. Her hand covered his cheek when she confessed lowly, "You know, I like being known as your fiancée."

Knowing any response he gave would be an understatement, he managed a sincere, "tonight was lovely," and pivoted his hips away from her. "You are lovely," he clarified and brushed up and down her back. He spun her around, marveling at how malleable and trusting she was in his arms just as she appreciated how he swept her away so easily. His gentlemanly command guided her, willingly in his arms toward the stairs. She matched his height on the first step and turned so her forehead rested on his. She held onto his wrists and tugged them to her chest. "I really can't wait to be known as your wife."

She swallowed his reply on his tongue, knowing that if he said anything sweet in that moment, she might very well lose self-control. Still, she allowed the lengthy kiss that agitated the cravings they couldn't satisfy. "Goodnight, Lucien," she purred lowly in his ear.

His breath hitched. "Goodnight, Jean," he replied with a final kiss to her cheek. Then she turned, slowly making her way up the stairs to her own bed.

* * *

His head filled with thoughts of their goodnight kiss less than eight hours before as he passed the staircase. He could still smell her hair and feel her her backing him against the door. He thought of how light and responsive she was in his arms and of how gradually she'd climbed the stairs. He saw the sway of her hips clearly in his mind's eye. It was no wonder she filled his dreams all night.

She wasn't in the kitchen but he found two empty mugs on the counter. He lifted the kettle. It was full and warm to the touch, indicating the water had been boiled but since cooled down. "Hmm," he pondered and put the water back on to heat.

A few moments later he had poured and prepared them both a cup.

* * *

"Jean?" he tried, spotting her from the entrance of the sun room with a mug in each hand. He figured he would find her there. She didn't hear him.

He was about to offer a chipper 'good morning,' but stopped himself, perplexed by her demeanor. She moved slowly and carelessly, the motion of her planting was messy and purposeless. Usually she stood poised, focused on providing life to the room. Jean was always lively herself, her perennial beauty helping colours to bloom. He frowned at her wilted posture in a room bursting with life she cultivated. She was distracted as he studied her raw and candid form as he waited for her to turn around.

"Oh, Lucien," she jumped when she caught him in her peripheral vision; her gloved hand went straight to her heart.

"Jean," he greeted. The curiosity hanging in his voice was not lost on her. "I made the tea. You forgot the kettle, I think, darling."

"Oh, yes," she brushed off her forgetfulness, tossed her gloves on the chair and closed the space between them. "Thank you."

"Of course."

He set their mugs down at the table by the wicker couch and turned back to her. He dipped down to kiss her forehead and brushed some dirt away from her brow with his thumb. "Good morning," he took her hand in his, inviting her to sit down with him on the couch. They cozied together but a heavy silence hung over them; hindering the calm they usually felt in each other's arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled, scarcely concealing the pain on her face. With a furrowed brow, she opened her mouth to try and answer him but she could only shake her head. Words failed her. "C'mere," he wrapped his arm around her, submerging her to the comfort of his chest. After a moment, he tried again softly, "Jean, what is it?"

Her back trembled. "It hurts," she muffled through uneasy breath at the open collar of his robe.

"What does, love?" he focused despite her hot breath on his skin. "Let me help."

"You can't."

"I want to."

She looked up at him with tired eyes. Her voice was small. "I don't know what else to do."

He knew then what was wrong. Only one thing could reduce her to this filtered-down hopeless version of herself.

"You told me the other day that Jack would get used to it." He felt her stiffen in his arms. "You didn't believe it though."

Her chin trembled, "no. Getting used to things he doesn't like has never been Jack's strong suit," she bit darkly, "and he won't try. I love him but I don't think I like him. Isn't that awful?"

"Oh, Jeannie," he consoled. "No."

"And I just can't stop worrying about him!" her voice shook.

"You're his mother."

"Ye - -ah," she choked and swallowed a desolate, "I miss him."

Lucien kissed the top of her head. "I know," he acknowledged. "I can't compare Lee to Jack because she never knew me. Not really," Lucien offered and comforted her with his fingernails behind her ear, cascading her curls between his fingers. "She never knew me as her father. It shouldn't feel so personal but when I went to China," he ruminated, "well, I think I felt some of how you feel. It hurt. Then all those months later when she thought I was ignoring her letters because of Munro... well, I don't think she ever forgave me. That eats away at me every day."

She smoothed the soft cotton covering his arm "You know, Lucien, it was right here where I first gave real consideration to your grief as a father," she nodded around the sun room. "The day Jack left, you said we can't give up on our children. Before then, I didn't consider that you felt more than discouraged about what happened in China. I thought you were just so grateful Lee was alive, I didn't realize you carried this burden around. I didn't know you 'hadn't given up' on her."

"I haven't."

"And neither will I. On Jack or Lee - and Christopher too, but with Jack," she let out a heavy sigh. "it hits me so hard when I think he doesn't want me in his life. I think of him everyday, it's just sometimes... and I don't know why... but it's worse, how heavily this panic crashes down on me. Do you feel like that?"

"Yes," he answered, "and no, I think. A mother's love is different, Jean. I'm not minimizing my grief. I miss Lee too but you carried and raised your boys. I won't completely understand how you feel but please know you can share it with me."

"But I don't understand it either," her small defeated voice tugged at his heart. He saw how fiercely protective she was of Jack when he came to town. He wished he could calm her anxieties but knew he couldn't. "You met my Jack. He's complicated. I try and reach out and he gets angry and then when I don't talk to him, he accuses me of not caring. I don't know what else to do," she twirled the sash of his robe aimlessly and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Well, we won't push him but he will always be welcome here," he resolved.

"Yes - but he's so set on closing me out to even realize that," she sniffled. "I feel like such a bad mother."

"Oh, darling, you are anything but," his palm clutched her waist, keeping her close. "I promise. Jack will come around."

"When?" she demanded desperately.

He massaged her knee. "I don't know, sweetheart. There's no clock for these things. Lee hasn't had enough time to receive and post a letter back to me but I expect she won't, which won't stop my disappointment when she doesn't. But we must make these efforts for our children, Jean. We have to believe they'll come back. We can't give up on them. Call Jack again when you're ready. If he's not ready to listen, write to him."

She shook her head, always in awe of how well he talked her up when she needed him. Despite his thought process being impetuous by nature, he overwhelmed her with the depth of his emotions and concern for her. A healer by profession and nature, he eased her aches time and time again. She wanted to express how much she appreciated it.

"I'm glad I never gave up on you, Lucien Blake."

"There was many-a-time that would have been justified," his self-deprecating attempt to lighten the moment did not work; instead, her heavy focus shifted to him.

"I couldn't have. Not a chance," she peppered kisses at his ear and spread her hand at his cheek. When she craned his neck to look at her, he saw gratitude and longing flickering boldly behind her eyes. He blinked and their lips were locked in a deep kiss. He pulled back after a moment; tenderly squeezing her thigh as he reached to the table for their tea.

"Let it go cold, Lucien."

 **Reviews are appreciated. It doesn't matter what you write : )**


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